


Finding You

by chooken



Series: Keeping You [8]
Category: Westlife
Genre: Absinthe, Blushing, Boys Kissing, Clubbing, Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Embarrassment, Engagement, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Glitter, Hangover, Hotels, Humor, Kissing, Lapdance, Love, M/M, Marckian, Marcky, Morning After, Multi, Play Fighting, Polyamory, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Uncertainty, Video Cameras, Vomiting, YouTube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 22:46:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3546563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after Nicky and Mark's bachelor party, they find themselves badly hungover and without their engagement rings or much memory of the night before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding You

“Oh god.” Nicky whispered. Too loud. Mark flinched, trying to figure out how to best get his face out of the suffocating pillow without passing out. He heard Nicky move, then there was the distinct sound and aroma of vomit escaping his fiance at high velocity. He felt himself gag in response, managed to move just enough to stumble off the bed and into the bathroom. The toilet was closed so he threw up in the sink instead, not having the time or coordination to lift the lid.

“Are you okay?” Nicky croaked. Then there was a low, swallowing grunt and he threw up over the side of the bed again. It didn't sound like it hit carpet, there was a solid splat like it landed in something. Mark just hoped the something was a bucket and not his shoes. “Oh fuck.”

Mark sank onto the tiled floor, crawling over to the toilet and lifting the lid. He leaned his cheek against the seat, wanting to be prepared in case he threw up again.

Nicky slouched over, the blue bucket they usually used for mopping the kitchen clutched between shaking hands. He was so white he was practically green, his eyes red and dazed, clad only in a pair of twisted black boxer shorts. Mark raised a hand in a slack wave, closing his eyes when he felt Nicky sink down beside him, leaning against the wall beside the toilet.

“I've died.” Nicky rasped. “I'm actually dead.”

“I wish I was dead.” Mark replied, then threw up again. A hand came out to touch his, linking on the seat of the toilet. It probably wasn't hygienic, but Mark was past worrying about that.

“What did we do last night?” Nicky asked finally, when Mark had stopped throwing up and was just gripping the bowl, trying to stop himself trembling into pieces. He felt cold and hot at the same time, and his back hurt for reasons he couldn't begin to think about. “I don't remember anything past the...” His cheeks bulged, suddenly, and then his face disappeared into the bucket. He resurfaced a moment later, coughing and wiping his mouth. “Ugh. Did we go somewhere after the club?”

“I remember a strip club.” Mark said. Remember was probably a loose term for it. It was more of a vague glimpses of sequins and impressively good arse. A lot of arse. “Why were we at a strip club? I hate strip clubs.”

“Bachelor party. Strippers.” Nicky shrugged. “I don't remember. I remember eating a steak.”

“That was pretty early on.” Mark pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache he could feel rushing towards him like a train down a tunnel. “Did we have sex?”

“Don't know.” Nicky crawled over to the shower, abandoning the bucket on the floor. He climbed in, reached up to twist the cold tap on and then sat there, slumped in the bath with his boxers still on. Mark flushed the toilet, stripped off his shirt and underwear and joined him, facing Nicky and resting his head against the end of the tub, their legs all tangled up in the middle, the cold water streaming on Nicky making his feet sting where it puddled around Nicky's thighs. Nicky turned the hot tap up a little bit, then shoved the plug in. The lukewarm water began to rise slowly, and Mark lay back, staring at the ceiling, wondering if it would be weird to drink bathwater, just to get hydrated. He decided against it, even though his mouth felt like sandpaper.

It was probably ten minutes later, the water up to their chests and Nicky just about unconscious at the other end of the tub, that Mark finally thought to ask the obvious question.

“Hey, where's Kian?”

 

*

 

He was in the back garden, asleep on the grass. They found him about half an hour later on the damp ground, his eyes closed, his clothes and hair wet. Nicky nudged him lightly with one foot. Mark watched, pulling his jacket tighter around himself over a pair of pyjama pants he'd managed to struggle into. Nicky was still naked, had the duvet off the bed wrapped around him like a marshmallow, his head looking tiny poked out the top.

“Kian.”

“What?” Kian breathed, then jerked, pushing himself up slightly to stare at the cold dewy lawn he'd been spread out on. “Um.” He muttered, then collapsed back down, closing his eyes again. “Fuck it. Whatever.”

“You awake?” Mark was glad Nicky was doing the talking. He didn't think he could remember how.

“No.” His eyes flicked open again, though he didn't appear to be using them to see. “I threw up somewhere. Be careful.”

“Okay, thanks.” Nicky slumped down to lay on the grass next to him, unrolling a little of the blanket to drape over Kian's back. Mark didn't try to sit. He was sure the change in altitude would just make him throw up again, and he wasn't at all confident he'd be able to get back up. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

“It was your bachelor party.” He mumbled.

“Very good.” Nicky sighed. “Do you remember what we did?”

“Drinking.” Kian muttered. He rolled over, looking up at the sky. Mark leant over him slightly and waved, not attempting to smile. Kian didn't smile back, anyway, just nodded minutely and stared up at the grey sky. “Ow.”

“What?”

“Hurts.”

“Where?” Nicky asked.

Kian tugged up his sleeve, and all three of them hissed when they saw the large, livid bruise coming up on Kian's shoulder, oozing in some rather spectacular colours towards his elbow.

“Fuck did you do?”

“Don't know.” Kian shook his head, then his eyes widened and he rolled over to throw up on the grass. He spat a few times, wiping his mouth. Mark winced in sympathy, trying not to let the smell set him off again. He felt empty, like he'd lost every meal since February.

It was July now. Two weeks until the wedding. Mark couldn't wait. He thought he'd be cooler about it, maybe not feeling the nerves and excitement until the day before, but he'd been buzzing all month, especially since that rather spectacular show in Croke Park. He felt like everything in the last month had just been high point after high point, that it couldn't possibly get any better after stepping out onto that stage, seeing eighty thousand people lose their minds. The roar had been tremendous. His heart had just about stopped. It had been truly magical, standing there with his three best friends in the world, in his home country, watching their entire careers hit a crazy, heady climax that lasted for almost two hours of pure, unbridled insanity and joy.

And here he was, two weeks out from marrying the love of his life. He didn't know how to explain how he was feeling, would be totally lost for words if somebody asked him. And they had – the usual polite interview questions in between questions about the album and the tour and hey Shane, how is it being a father and are you lot breaking up yet? And in between all that: “You two are getting married soon. Are you excited?”

And he'd said “Yes, I'm very excited.” And Nicky had said “We're very happy.” And they'd gotten a look like maybe all this was a publicity stunt or doomed to fail, and then Kian had told a funny story about Louis and they'd moved on.

But excited and happy... it wasn't enough. He couldn't...

Admittedly, watching his boyfriend throw up on the grass while Mark started to get the hangover shakes wasn't a high point.

“Do you want to go inside?” Mark asked, feeling his teeth start to chatter. The grass was damp under his feet. “It's cold.”

“Can't.” Kian protested. “I'll throw up.”

“I'll get a bucket.” Nicky promised. After a moment, Kian nodded, and they helped him up, heading inside.

 

*

 

They each had their own bucket. Nicky had retrieved the blue one from upstairs for himself, Mark had a large tupperware container from the kitchen, and Kian was bent over a saucepan that Mark wasn't sure he was ever going to be able to make soup in again. Kian was so close to it he was almost kissing the bottom, the handle stuck out awkwardly to one side. They were sat on the couch together, Mark in between his boyfriend and his fiance, watching a music show with the sound turned decidedly off.

“I threw up in the sink.” Mark announced, though nobody had asked. Kian nodded, peering into the saucepan as though looking for his lost sobriety.

“So.” Nicky said, pushing the blanket he was still wrapped in down to puddle around his waist. “Let's figure this out.” He put the bucket down on the floor, well within emergency reaching distance, and leaned back against the seat. “We met at eight, yeah? Had dinner?”

“Yeah.” Mark remembered that. They'd gone out to a really nice restaurant, all ten of them. All their groomsmen were there – his brothers and Adam, the lads. It had been nice. A big dinner, a few bottles of wine. They'd put the Sligo lads up in a hotel for the night, not having nearly enough room at theirs to fit everyone, and they'd met there to go to a restaurant down the road. It had been great craic, catching up with everyone. He knew Nicky's friends quite well, they were always around, and Nicky had met Rowen quite a few times, knew his brothers well enough. At the beginning of their relationship Mark had thought it would be a bit weird, having Nicky be friends with his ex, but he and Ro had never been all that serious anyway, just a bit of a fumble early on when they were both sorting out their sexuality. But Rowen was quite happily straight now, had a serious girlfriend, and he and Nicky got along really well.

So, yeah, dinner.

“I had a steak.” Kian said, his voice echoing off the bottom of the pot.

“Congratulations.” Nicky drawled, standing up. He looked a little better now, or at least better than Mark felt. “I'm getting a water. Anybody?”

“Please.” Mark nodded. He came back a moment later with big glasses of water, packed full of ice. Mark sipped gratefully, dipping his fingers into it to rub a little bit of ice onto the back of his neck. “What time did we leave?”

“Erm... tennish? Kian said, looking up. He backed slowly away from the saucepan, holding it at arms length as though he wasn't sure if he still needed it. Then he nodded resolutely, putting it down on the coffee table. He took a sip of the water, swished it around, swallowed it. Made a disgusted face. “Urgh.” He took another sip. “We went to that club.”

“Strip club?” Nicky asked.

“No, just a club.” Kian scratched his hair, wincing. “Shane bought a round of something.”

“Absinthe.” Nicky announced. Mark's eyes widened as he remembered the green shots. Well, that explained how fucked up he was, why he kept gritting his teeth and shaking. Fucking absinthe. Nicky groaned. “He said we should all do it because we were celebrating fairies.” Mark laughed, despite himself. “Fucking Shane.”

“Of course he's to blame for this.” Kian scowled. “How many did we do?”

“Three.” Mark bit his lip, trying to recollect. “At least three.”  
  
“Four.” Nicky corrected. “And then Adam and Colin wanted to try all the cocktails, remember?”

“Not at all.” It made sense, though. Nicky's brother had only just turned eighteen, and Colin was nineteen and a terrible influence when he got in the mood. Mark probably should have stopped them, as a responsible adult and brother.

Ha.

“I had a Japanese Slipper. I remember that.”

“Any good?”  
  
“It was green. Tasted like lifesavers.” Kian yawned, which turned into a burp, which turned into him grabbing the saucepan again and retching over it.

Mark looked at Nicky, waiting until Kian was done with the rather spectacular impression of a fountain he was attempting.

“I didn't dance, did I?”

“Oh, you did!” Nicky exclaimed. “I remember! We did the entire dance to World of Our Own!” He twisted a little bit, doing the signature bend and click. Mark knew it well. They'd basically been coasting on it for the last five years.

“They played World of Our Own at a club?” Mark asked, surprised. Maybe someone there had seen them and put it on for a laugh.

“Shane requested it.” Kian said, looking up. “Fucking idiot.”

“You danced to it, though.”

“I was shitfaced. Of course I did.” Kian groaned. “Oh god, I bet that's going to end up on YouTube.”

“Fuck.” Mark leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Then the room started to spin and he leant forward over his tupperware container again, gripping it tight. “That's embarrassing.”

“No, what's embarrassing is catching you two making out against the bar. If anything, that's going to be on YouTube.” Kian laughed. “We had to pry you apart. It was like trying to separate a couple of Lego bricks.”

Mark felt himself go red. Nicky put a hand over his mouth, stifling a laugh. Mark looked at him, smiling. And then he realised...

“Nix... where's your engagement ring?”

“What?” Nicky looked at his hand, his eyes going suddenly wide. He lifted his other hand, turned them both over as though he was hiding them from himself and wasn't sure. “Oh fuck!”

“Nicky!”

“I don't... I didn't...” Nicky began to look around himself, as though it might be in the couch cushions or something. Mark reached for his own. He always twisted it when he was nervous.

“Fuck!”

“What?”

Mark lifted his hand. “Mine's gone too.”

“Jesus.” Nicky paused. Mark felt the colour drain from his own face. “Kian?”

“Don't look at me.” Kian raised one hand in defeat, the other clamped firmly to the saucepan handle. “I don't fucking know.”

“Shit.” Mark whispered. “Do you remember taking it off?”

“No. I...” Nicky shook his head. “No.”

“Were we still wearing them at the club?”

“I think so. I don't...” Nicky bit his lip. “Um...”

“Call Shane?” Kian asked. Mark nodded.

“Call Shane.”

 

*

 

Shane did not want to be called. He said something that wasn't a whole sentence and hung up on them. So Mark called again, putting him on speakerphone so they could all listen.

“Fuck off.”

“Hi Shane.” Nicky said brightly. “Erm... how you feeling?”

“Shite. I...” There was the rather distinct sounds of vomiting. “Oh Jesus.” He said, his voice low and wondering, as though he'd thrown up something really interesting. Mark tried to muffle a laugh, remembering being in the same situation not an hour before.

“Hey, quick question, yeah? How much of last night do you remember?”

“Too much. Not enough.” There was a heaving retch. “What do you want?”

“Do you remember us taking our engagement rings off?”

“No. Why? Did you?”

“Apparently, yeah.” Nicky replied, his thumb stroking the bare patch of skin nervously. It had been sat there for almost a year, and god knew Mark's own hand felt weird. Lighter, somehow, not balanced right. It wasn't a heavy ring, just a simple gold band, but it was a promise. A constant, tangible reminder of Nicky in his life, in his future. It felt strange not having it there, even with Nicky sat next to him.

“I dunno, Nicky.” Shane said. His voice was a little echoey. Bathroom acoustics, probably. “I split from you lot around three in the morning, though. Or I lost you, I think. We got in a couple of cabs, and I don't remember seeing you until later.”

“How much later?”

“Don't remember. Later.” Shane paused. “I think Mark's brothers were in your cab, though. We couldn't all fit in one, so I ended up in a van with everyone else. Can I go throw up now?”

“Yeah, sorry Shane.” Mark said. They all said a quick goodbye, then hung up.

“Call Barry?” Kian asked.

“Call Barry.” Nicky agreed.

 

*

 

They tried to call Barry, but he wasn't picking up his phone, and neither was Colin. They called Rowen, but apparently he and Jason had woken up on a park bench and were still trying to figure out how to get back to the hotel. Mark gave them quick directions, and then hung up, looking around at the others.

“Should we go to the hotel?”

“We don't know if they're even there.” Nicky reasoned. “You want to be the one to drive, anyway?”

Mark shook his head. Then, slowly, he slid down to sit on the floor, leaning his back against the couch. Nicky reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I really want to kiss you, but I'm afraid I'll be sick in your mouth.”

“I love you too, Nix.” Mark sighed, laughing at the cheeky pout he was given. He reached up to squeeze Nicky's hand. Kian got up to empty out his saucepan, and there was the sound of running water as he rinsed it. He came back without it, sitting down next to Mark and leaning into his shoulder, his eyes closing.

“Going to sleep now.”

“Okay, love.” Mark kissed his hair, reaching up to stroke his shoulder. Kian hissed, and Mark pulled his hand away, remembering the bruise. “Sorry.” He whispered.

“S'okay.” Kian breathed, snuggling into Mark's shoulder. “Wake me if anything happens.”

 

*

 

Nothing happened. By around lunch time they were starting to feel a bit better. Kian had stirred from his nap when Mark had to get up to use the toilet, and had crashed back out on the kingsize bed in Mark and Nicky's room, his face pale and slack. Nicky joined him not long after. His eyes kept closing as they were talking, and once or twice Mark saw his head rock forward in a moment of genuine sleep before staggering awake again.

They still hadn't managed to get onto either of Mark's brothers. Nicky had reached Adam and his groomsmen, but they'd all been in the taxi with Shane and couldn't tell him anything. Adam had picked up at some point, apparently. He couldn't tell them her name, but said her flat was quite nice and she'd made him breakfast, so he figured he'd hang around until he had reason to leave. He sounded upbeat and sober, and Mark and Nicky tried to put real effort into hating him before running out of energy.

Mark made himself a sandwich, managed half of it, then went to sleep in with his boys, finding a space in between the flurry of Nicky's spread limbs and the tight, depressed ball Kian had curled himself into.

When he woke up, he was alone. He went to investigate, and followed the sound of laughter to the living room. Kian was sat on the couch, his laptop open while Nicky leaned against his side.

“What you looking at?”

They jumped, turned to stare at him, then looked at each other, bursting into giggles again. Mark scratched his head confusedly, coming around behind the couch to peer over their shoulders.

“It's up to over three thousand hits already.” Kian laughed. Mark looked down. He could see the counter slowly crawling up, one or two digits at a time. Three thousand and twenty six, three thousand and twenty eight...

“What is it?”

Nicky covered his mouth, reaching over to press play.

“Oh, fuck you!” Mark felt himself go red. Kian had been right. Their escapades had ended up on YouTube. He covered his mouth, stifling an embarrassed laugh. It was a grainy video taken on a phone. As he watched, he ordered a couple of drinks. Nicky came over, said something in his ear. Then Mark was kissing him, pinning him against the bar while the bartender tried to get their attention, then shrugged, leaving the drinks on the counter in front of them. Probably a good thing, too, because Mark's hands were quite unambiguously working their way into the back of Nicky's trousers. Nicky was trying to push away a little bit, but then Mark scraped teeth down his throat, and Nicky pulled him in instead, his eyes falling closed when he began to grind against Mark, his mouth opening on a gasp.

“Get a room!” Someone yelled in the background.

“Oh, that's not all of it.” Kian said, skipping the video forward a little bit. Four minutes. The runtime was four minutes. “Here.”

And... World of Our Own was playing. That wasn't so bad. He could do those moves in his sleep.

He apparently couldn't do them when he was drunk.

“Ah... fuck.” He covered his eyes, not wanting to watch it any more. It was awful. He hated watching himself dance at the best of times, but this was just... bad. He seemed to have forgotten how to click his fingers. He was doing the hip moves, but he kept staring at his hands like he was wondering why they didn't work. Next to him, Shane fell over, then got back up to keep going, facing the wrong direction. Okay, so it wasn't just him.

“I hope Shane hasn't seen this yet.” Kian giggled. “I want to be there when he sees it the first time.”

“Wait, there's more!” Nicky crowed gleefully, skipping ahead.

It was the street outside the club. Mark was leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette clumsily. Whoever had the camera came over. An unfamiliar voice. A girl's voice. Mark was sort of glad it wasn't someone he recognised, because then someone would have a lot of explaining to do.

“Where's Nicky?” The girl said.

Mark watched himself stare at the camera, his eyes blinking way too slowly, mouth a little open.

“Dunno.” He said, then looked around himself, confused. “Oi! Nix!”

“Over here!” He heard Nicky's voice from off in the distance. Saw himself look over, then smile and relax, going back to his cigarette now that he'd figured out where his elusive fiance was.

“You excited about getting married?”

He nodded, looking down shyly.

“I'm so fucking happy.” His arm came up, sleeve rubbing over his face like he was crying, or wiping snot away, or something. “Like, you know how you're really fucking happy, and then you're more really fucking happy? Well I'm more fucking happy than that.” He grinned triumphantly, then yelped, dropping the cigarette when it burned his fingers. He looked back up, shaking his hand. Then stared, eyes slightly glazed. “Sorry, who're you?”

“I hate both of you so fucking much.” Mark mumbled as the other two roared with laughter. Nicky stopped the video, twisting to look up at him.

“I'm so fucking happy.” He teased, reaching up to caress Mark's cheek. “Come here, you drunk eejit.” Mark bent down, accepting the kiss despite the blaze of embarrassment settling into his face.

“It's pretty adorable.” Kian laughed, reaching up to run the back of his hand down Mark's hot cheek. “It could be worse. Bit of a bad dance, and you made out with the bloke you're about to marry. It wasn't like you were making out with me or something. Then it'd really be viral.”

“Oh god, can you imagine?” Nicky smirked. “The press'd go mad. Although honestly I'm surprised we've gotten away with it this long.”

“Me too.” Mark admitted. “Like, I know we keep it to ourselves in public, but Kian lives here and no-one's suspected anything? Like, at all?”

“Oh, they've suspected.” Kian clicked around, bringing up a fan site. One of the bigger ones, Mark recognised the banner. He clicked through the forums, then brought a thread up, pointing.

There was a flurry of posts, from about seven or eight different people. The names went past faster than he could read them as Kian scrolled. Mark read as fast as he could, covering his mouth to stifle a laugh.

_Um... does Kian still live with Mark and Nicky?_

_So far as I know. Why?_

_Just... can he not get a girlfriend? Or is he poor or something? Like, they're getting married and they're rich and they have a roommate. What's that about?_

_Or maybe he's, you know, their bit on the side ;-)_

_Ooh, scandal!_

_Kian's not gay!_

_Has he had a girlfriend recently? Come on, open your eyes._

_He's not! You're making things up. I'm gonna marry him._

_Now who's making things up?_

_Look, if Mark and Nicky want to be gay they can, but Kian isn't_

_Um... want to? I'm sorry, it's not a choice_

_I hope they find their way back to Jesus' love_

_I still think they're faking it for the publicity._

_Seen the video that came up this morning?_

Mark rolled his eyes at the embedded YouTube video. He was so glad he was getting to see it twice. Highlight of his morning. Almost as good as throwing up in the sink.

_Bahahahahahaha *dies*_

_They're SO CUTE!_

_And Shane's down! Shane is DOWN!_

_Feck, Kian looks good in that shirt._

_OMG, HOT MARCKY KISSES!_

_Why the fuck would you need Kian when you've got that_

_Kian enhances everything_

_Marckian threeway!_

_I've already started writing the fic..._

_LOL, gross_

“It goes on like that for...” Kian scrolled to the bottom. “Twenty six pages. And the thread was only created two hours ago.”

“How'd you know about it, then?” Nicky asked.

“I didn't. But there's always one. Everyone seems to think I'm either lonely, poor, or shagging both of you.”

“Oh, wait...” Mark pointed, something having caught his eye for a moment. “What's that? Go back up.”

Kian did so, until Mark told him to stop. He leaned over, trying to read the text.

_OMG, I actually saw them last nite! It was around three in the morning and they were coming out of_ Chaps _! SOOOO cute. Mark, Nicky, Kian, and Mark's brothers. Didn't see Shane though :-( Nicky was riding on Mark's back and Kian had glitter in his hair. Adorbs!_

Then there was a link to a really blurry photo. Nicky's arms around his shoulders, Mark's hands holding his bum up while legs wrapped around his waist. They were laughing, Kian walking backwards in front of them, his hands gesturing something, his hair sparkling under neon lights.

“Well, that explains why my back hurts.” Mark sighed, rubbing his spine when it twinged. “What's Chaps?”

“Strip club.” Kian replied.

“How do you know?”

“I leave the house occasionally?” Kian rolled his eyes, reaching up to touch his hair. “Have I got glitter?” Mark leaned over to look, but the blonde hair seemed glitter-free.

“No. Wait...” An idea occurred to him, suddenly. “Go back to the video.”

Kian did. Mark leaned over, sliding to the bit with him professing his fucking happiness. His hands were up, cigarette to his mouth. And...

“I'm wearing my ring there.” Mark pointed at the screen.

“Am I?” Nicky asked.

“Um...” Kian slid the tracker to a bit earlier, to the rather impassioned embrace against the bar. Nicky was making the face he did when he was growling, preparing himself to be fucked hard. His eyes half closed, his hands clenched in Mark's hair.

He was still wearing his ring.

“Right, so this was around... what, midnight? One?” Kian said. He clicked back to the strip club photo. Mark squinted, trying to see, but his hands were hidden behind his own back, hoisting Nicky up. Nicky's arms were around his shoulders, left hand dangling...

“It's not there.” Nicky said. Mark put a hand on his shoulder, sensing the sudden tense stress running through Nicky. “Fuck, we lost our rings at a fucking strip club?”

“Around three in the morning, apparently.” Kian nodded, closing down tabs and shutting the laptop down. He closed it, putting it back on the coffee table. “Right, who wants to do a bit of a walk of shame and go to a strip club at...” He checked his watch. “One in the afternoon?”

Mark groaned. Nicky leaned forward, putting his head in his hands.

Kian stood up, sighing. “I'll get the car keys.”

 

*

 

“Hey, you guys are back!”

Mark looked over. There was a short, cheerful guy behind the bar, dressed in a mesh shirt and leather shorts. Mark smiled weakly, glad he was distracted for a moment from the guy grinding on stage in the middle of the room. It was definite mid-afternoon fare. He was cute enough, but looked tired and like he was only giving marginal focus to the three older guys sipping drinks. One of them was staring in rapt attention, but the other two looked pretty disinterested. One was reading a newspaper, the other was just kind of staring drunkenly at nothing.

“Hey.” Nicky pushed ahead and Mark followed, unable to believe he'd been here last night and wasn't able to remember it. Oh, there were flashes. He remembered some sequins, and possibly having someone's arse quite near his face. “Erm... we were definitely here, then?”

“Oh, yeah. Right at the start of my shift.” The guy laughed. “You were pretty bladdered. You don't remember?”

“Bits and pieces.” Kian mumbled.

“Anyway.” Nicky smiled, and Mark envied as usual the ease at which he could settle into any situation, no matter how awkward it might be. He was grinning cheerfully, leaning over the counter like he and the bartender were old friends. “I think I might have lost something last night? Was anything found, or...?”

“What did you lose?”

“Ehm...” Nicky winced slightly, and Mark echoed it, turning away slightly. “Engagement ring, possibly?”

“Oh...” The bartender shook his head, giving a look that could only be called pitying. “Sorry, no. I haven't see anything. Let me...” He ducked down, pulling out a box from under the bar. There was an umbrella poking out of the top, and when he started to rummage Mark saw a couple of pairs of sunglasses, a baseball cap and a phone. “No. Sorry. No ring...” He looked up, giving Nicky a sympathetic look. “Sorry.”

“It's okay.” Nicky's body sagged a little bit. “Right, well, thanks for the help.” He stepped away, and Mark began to follow him back towards the door.

“Oh, wait!” The bartender called out. Mark turned back. “You could check the lapdance booth? I haven't had a chance to go in there today, so maybe it's on the floor or something?”

“We got a lapdance?” Nicky asked. Okay, well Mark didn't remember that one. He could see embarrassment galloping back towards him again, his constant companion throughout this strange, hungover day. He still felt slightly sick, and the headache was blinding, and now apparently he'd gotten a lapdance. Oh, good.

“No, well, he did.” The bartender pointed at Mark, who tried to sink backwards into his own skin. “Got halfway in, then Eric came back out. He said you...” He pointed at Nicky, “...tipped him and told him to fuck off. The two of you came back out about twenty minutes later.” He winked. “Not that I'm judging. It was a pretty generous tip.”

Kian laughed from somewhere behind him. Mark felt Nicky wrap arms around him, sandwiching his elbows against his chest while he tried to cover his face.

“Oh, babe...” Nicky chuckled, kissing his cheek. “Well, at least it's not on YouTube.” He paused, glancing back at the bartender. “You don't... uh... film anything, do you?”

The bartender shook his head, laughing. “We don't, no. Look, it's just through there. I can't leave the bar, but it's not occupied, so if you want to go look...”

“Thanks.” Kian strode ahead, Mark following behind, wincing when he saw the tiny square room, draped with purple and red curtains, a rutted wooden chair in the middle. He sort of remembered that chair, as he bent down to look underneath it. Sort of remembered gripping the seat of it while Nicky sat on his lap, hands braced over Mark's shoulders on the wooden back, his jeans on the floor while Mark rubbed the head of his cock into the crack of Nicky's arse.

He didn't think they'd fucked, couldn't remember actually coming, but it was still quite a nice thought.

Nicky was looking around himself. “Did we have sex in here?”

“I don't remember.” Mark admitted. “I remember you with your pants off.”

“That doesn't narrow it down.” Kian joked beginning to push aside curtains and looking along the corners. “I've got nothing. You?”  
  
“No.” They kept searching, but after ten minutes they all had to admit that there was nothing here. Nicky stood up, dusting off his hands. Then they shrugged at each other, signed the back of a napkin for the helpful bartender and left, Mark's heart feeling lower with every moment, his stomach rushing up to meet it.

It was just a piece of jewellery, he knew that. He could easily buy another one. But it wasn't just that. It was the loss of it, the light, bare feeling on his hand, the memory of buying the things, of getting them engraved, dithering for ages over which ones to get, which ones would be perfect for he and Nicky. Proposing, having it accepted. Seeing it on his own hand, on Nicky's for the last year, having it there as a reminder whenever they'd been fighting, or when he'd been tired and fed up. Seeing it there when he wrapped his arms around Nicky, fallen into heady kisses, felt them pressed together in a thousand different, dizzying ways. Holding Nicky's arms above his head and taking him, watching their hands entwine on the pillow, the two rings shining in the light of the bedroom.

“So what do we do now?” Kian asked.

“Get lunch?” Nicky suggested. Mark shrugged. He felt like he should probably eat something, just to refill his stomach after the morning's misery, but he didn't much feel like eating. He reached out, folding his hand into Nicky's as they walked back to the car. Nicky looked over, smiling at him, then paused, turning to pull him into a hug without needing to be asked.

“Thanks.” Mark said when they pulled away. Nicky kissed his cheek, hand caressing Mark's arm gently. “Sorry.”

“Sweet boy.” Nicky hugged him again. “Don't worry about it, yeah?” Mark glanced over Nicky's shoulder, watching Kian unlock the car and slide into the driver's seat, waiting for them, not trying to interfere.

It was polite, Mark guessed, and they were in public, but there was something else. He'd felt it, in the last few months. Nothing huge, Kian was still Kian, was helping them with the wedding, was their best friend, was utterly enthusiastic and beautiful in bed. Was their anchor, in an odd way. But he'd been... pulling away. Mark had felt it. There'd always been three of them. Yeah, he and Nicky were a couple, but after the initial unsure fumbling they'd developed a sort of rhythm, a domesticity that benefited all three of them equally. A comfort. The sort of feeling he'd settled into with Nicky at the beginning of the relationship, that the other person was just there. That they belonged.

Now it felt... more like being back with Nicky again. Having Kian as well, of course, but being with Nicky. Holding Nicky... and Kian. Spending time with Nicky... and Kian. Mark loved him, didn't think they were doing anything differently, but there was something there. Something off. And he didn't know how to put his finger on it. Maybe it was that he was marrying Nicky, but they'd been together a lot longer. Things were different. Nicky was the love of his life, was the thing he couldn't see himself not needing for as long as he lived. Kian was his boyfriend. His friend. Companion. Made him laugh, was sweet and supportive and made him feel utterly loved and respected and admired in a way that had nothing to do with ego-stroking.

And Nicky... well, Nicky loved Kian. Had always fancied him in a straightforward way that had never made Mark feel insecure, because he knew he'd been chosen. That it had never been a question. That Nicky had looked at him one day and never stopped looking, that Mark felt the same way, could feel the genuine adoration that Nicky held for him, a sort of sobering, honest confirmation that forever was a thing that he could do. That they could do. Without question, without struggle or agenda. That forever was something easy. Because it was with Nicky.

And Kian was...

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the dehydrated stab of pain that had settled into the back of his skull. Blinked in the glare of the sunlight, felt it cut through his hangover like cheesewire.

He realised, idly, that he was still hugging Nicky.

“I'm so fucking hungover.” He murmured. Nicky laughed against him, stroking his hair.

“Me too. Want to help me eat a bacon sandwich?”

“God, yes.” Mark sighed, pressing his face into Nicky's shoulder. Kian was sitting in the car, fiddling with the radio. “Hey, where's the hotel from here?” He felt Nicky shrug bemusedly, and elaborated. “My brothers...”

“Oh right.” Nicky looked around, his hand still curved to the back of Mark's skull. “Erm... about eight blocks, I guess? You want to go see if they're in?”

“Might be an idea.” He dropped a kiss on his fiance's shoulder, then stood up properly, squinting through the haze of his headache. “We can order room service when we get there.”

“Grand idea.” Nicky lifted his face, kissing him. “Clever.”

“I am, yeah.” Mark agreed, taking his hand and heading for the car.

 

*

 

They were both awake when the three of them arrived, but Barry looked a little worse for wear, was sitting on the balcony with a cigarette dangling weakly from his lips. Mark thought about asking if their mother knew he smoked, and then decided he couldn't be bothered without seeming like a hypocrite. Colin was just getting out of the shower, looking a little less upbeat than Adam had sounded, but still fairly sober. For not the first time that day, Mark remembered that he was getting old. Twenty-eight, and he'd somehow lost the ability to wake up after a stupid night out with any kind of dignity. Nicky was going to be thirty in a few months. It was a sobering thought.

“You lost your engagement rings?” Barry asked, after they'd called room service and procured a few Irish breakfasts. Mark doubted he was going to eat the whole thing, but his stomach was starting to cramp with hunger and he was desperate for something greasy and salty. Kian stole a bottle of water from the minibar, necked it in fairly short order, then took another one.

“Yeah.” Nicky sighed. “You don't remember seeing...?”

“I do.” Colin announced. His towel was around his shoulders, his hair still wet from the shower. “You had them on when we were in the park. You kept showing people.”

“We were in a park?” Nicky asked.

“What people?” Mark asked.

“Yeah, we ended up in St Stephen's Green.” Colin sat down on the bed. Mark rolled his eyes. Of course. That's where Rowen and Jason had woken up just that morning. Which he would have remembered, had there not been an awful lot of forgetfulness going around that day. “You were trashed.”

“I have video!” Barry announced, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. They all bent around it, watching the park fountain come into focus, the view bobbing for a minute while Barry laughed. Then there was Rowen and Kian, shoving each other playfully, throwing terrible kicks and punches like something out of a really bad martial arts movie. Rowen dropped back into something that he probably thought was a cool Matrix-style stance, and Kian charged at him, missing entirely when Ro stepped out of the way, tripping on his own feet, hitting the edge of the fountain hard, and rolling over the lip straight into the water. He came up a moment later, spluttering, and holding his shoulder.

“Well, that explains this.” Kian pulled up his sleeve to reveal a bruise that was starting to purple quite nicely. They all flinched.

“Glitter must have washed out, too.” Nicky added, as they watched Kian flop back into the water and Rowen reach over to help him out. The video stopped, the last sound Mark singing a Mariah Carey song in the background. “So you don't remember anything about us losing them?”

“No, but we left not long after that.” Colin shrugged. “You were looking for a cab, and Jason was throwing up in the bushes so Rowen said he'd walk him home when he was feeling well enough.”

“You left them there?” Mark asked.

“Yeah, I was plastered.” Colin yawned, then looked up brightly when the doorbell rang. “Ooh, breakfast?”

 

*  
  
  


They stayed long enough to eat. Mark didn't think he could manage more than a sausage or two, but by the end of it he'd polished off two pieces of toast, a rasher of bacon, a couple of forkfuls of mushrooms and two fried eggs. Kian ate more, then proceeded to throw most of it up in the ensuite toilet. They said goodbye after that, promised to see them at the wedding. The room was going on Mark's credit card, so he sorted it all out at the reception desk on the way back down, making sure Jason and Rowen's rooms were also paid for in advance of checkout and scowling a little bit when he saw the room service bill Rowen had managed to rack up. And the porn. He didn't know when Rowen had managed it – he'd been out with them all night, so unless he'd snuck it in the afternoon before...

He checked the time stamp. This morning.

“Ro's back.” Mark pointed at the bill. “He paid for... Lesbian Cumsluts at around eleven.”

“Ew.” Nicky wrinkled his nose. “But redundant, isn't it? Like, if they're lesbians, why are they...” He shook his head. “Forget it. I don't care.” He rolled his eyes, peeking over Mark's shoulder at the bill. “Quick trip back upstairs?”

“Do we have to?” Kian was leant against the wall near the desk, his eyes bloodshot. He looked exhausted, was chewing on some gum to cover the smell of vomit. “I'm wrecked.”

“You can wait in the car if you like?” Nicky suggested. “We'll only be five minutes. It'll be dark down there, you can have a kip in the backseat?”

Kian looked, for a moment, like he was going to do the honourable thing and protest. But then he nodded and hung his head, covering his mouth against an ominous-sounding burp.

“Yeah.” He rubbed his eyes. “Sorry. I'll meet you down there.” He walked them towards the lifts, then stepped into one going down to the underground carpark, leaning against the mirrored wall like he was dying. Nicky waved brightly at him, laughing.

“Is he okay?” Mark asked quietly once they were in the lift, the doors closed. He'd caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror beside him, and was trying not to look again. It was not a good sight.

“Yeah, just fucked up.” Nicky yawned, stretching. “I feel okay, actually. Breakfast did me good.” He patted his stomach. “How are you?”

“Bit worried about Kian, honestly.” Mark bit his lip, pulling Nicky against his side in a loose hug, knowing he wouldn't exactly be loving the lift. “He seems a bit off lately. You notice?”

“No, not really.” Nicky shook his head. “Bit quieter, maybe, but I thought it was just wedding stress. Why, do you think something's up?”

“Dunno.” Mark shrugged, smiling when lips pressed to his temple. “I think... I dunno.” He shook his head. The doors dinged open. They stepped out, Nicky turning to look at him questioningly.

“You think...?”

“I'm not sure.” Mark shook his head. “Don't worry. It's probably nothing.” He gestured dismissively, trying to break the scrutinising look he was getting. “He's fine.”

“Okay.” Nicky nodded slowly, stepping forward when Mark tried to get around him, blocking his way. He reached up, putting his hands on Mark's shoulders. “You still like having him?”

“I really do.” Mark replied honestly. He did. Kian was his best friend. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Nicky nodded. “I didn't think it'd work out at the beginning, you know? It was such a mad idea, but...” He squeezed Mark's shoulders. “I love you. I really do. I'm so fucking happy.”

“How fucking happy?” Mark teased. Nicky grinned.

“Even more fucking happier than that.” They both laughed, Mark bending forward to kiss Nicky's cheek, tugging him into a hug. “Now let's get out of this hallway, or people will start to think we're an item.”

They wandered down the hall, reaching the room a moment later. He knocked. Then again. Nothing. Nicky shrugged, reaching out to knock himself.

“What?” The door opened slightly, an eye appearing above the chain. The room was dark. “Oh, it's you.” The door closed, then reopened properly. “Hey.”

“Ro.” Mark waved, peering around him into the dark room. He could sort of make out the shape of the beds, silhouetted against a sliver of light peeking through the closed balcony curtains. Rowen had his shirt off, was wearing a pair of pyjama bottoms that were half-twisted. His hair was a mess. “Erm... sleeping, or?”

“I was, yeah.” Rowen squinted, running a hand through sandy hair. “Is it check-out?”

“Not yet, no.” Mark glanced at his watch. He'd paid a bit extra for late checkout, knowing they'd probably be having a late night. Understatement of the year. “Erm... Nicky and I needed to ask you a question?”

“I wondered if you'd remember that.” Rowen yawned, pushing the door open a little bit. “Come in. Let's not talk about it in the hall.” He flicked on the light. Mark went to sit on the bed, then decided on a wicker chair in the corner instead, remembering what Rowen had probably been doing in the bed not three hours before. He decided not to ask – if Rowen wanted to jerk off, that was his business. Nicky perched on the arm, reaching out to pinch a few cold fries from a room service tray on the table nearby. Rowen collapsed back onto his own bed. “Look... I won't tell anyone.”

“Ehm... what?” Nicky asked finally.

“You know. About Kian.” He peered at them, must have caught their surprised faces. “Oh! You don't remember!” He blushed a little bit, giving them an embarrassed look. “Sorry. Shit. Shouldn't have said anything.”

“What... uh... what did we tell you?” Mark attempted, trying not to give to much away in case it was something entirely different from what he was thinking.

“You know, that's he's your...” Hands gestured, looking for the right words. “...fuckbuddy. Thing.” He shrugged. “Look, I'm not one to judge. It's none of my business.”

“Erm...” Nicky pinched the bridge of his nose, his hand falling to grasp Mark's shoulder. “How did you...?”

“Find out?” Rowen laughed. “Mark told me. Well, he sort of had to. I busted them making out in the alley behind the strip-club toilets.” He winked, making Mark turn redder than he'd previously though possible. “It's fine. Whatever. We've all done the experimentation thing.” He winked at Mark again, who thought about crawling under the bed and staying there until everyone he'd ever met had died of old age. Nicky was giving him an accusing, withering look. “Don't worry. Just be glad it was me catching you and not, like, some paparazzi or someone.” He scratched his messy hair. “So... if that's not what you're here for...”

“Oh. Yeah.” Nicky's voice was flat. Mark winced. He was going to hear about this when they got home, he just knew it. “Have you seen our engagement rings?”

“No, I don't think so. Did you lose them?”

“Yeah.” Nicky nodded. “Do you remember the last time we had them? Or...”

“Oh, yeah. In the park.” Rowen nodded. “You were showing people. I remember you made Mark take his off so you could propose to him, because you said it was unfair he'd gotten to propose to you and not the other way around. You said yes, by the way.” He confirmed, smiling at Mark. “It was very cute. And then... I dunno. You were still on one knee when Kian managed to flag a cab. I think you shoved them in your pocket.” He tilted his head, studying them. “You did check your pockets, right?”

“Erm... yeah, thanks Ro.” Nicky lied. “I'll have to... double check.” He glanced at Mark, who had to stifle a laugh. Now who was in trouble? It'd be just like them to get home and find them in Nicky's trousers from last night. “But we didn't have them at the strip club.”

“Yeah, you did.” Rowen laughed. “You just kept putting them on all your other fingers to see if it fit better. You said society's rules didn't apply to you and you'd wear it where you wanted.” He snorted, reaching over to the table to grab a bottle of water. “At one point you wanted to put it on your dick.”

“It'd never fit.” Nicky shot back, then paused, his eyes clearing. “I said that last night, didn't I?”  
  
“You did. You were very adamant about it.” Rowen took a sip of water, the bottle hiding a smirk. “Apparently you're smuggling something pretty impressive. Mark was confirming it all over the place. I'm pleased for both of you.” He stood up, laughing. “I hope the four of you will be very happy together.”

“Four?” Mark asked, confused.

“You, Nicky, Kian, and Nicky's enormous penis. It's got its own area code, from what you were saying.” Rowen laughed, putting a hand on Mark's shoulder when he blushed. “Shame I turned out straight. Think I've been missing out.”

“Yeah, well.” Mark mumbled, feeling his face go red for the hundredth time that day. Honestly, he was sure his entire body had rerouted blood to his face. “Anyway, we had better go home and check Nicky's trousers.”

“I'm sure you will.” Rowen winked. “You kids have fun.”

 

*

 

The rings were in Nicky's trouser pocket.

Kian rolled his eyes, slouched into his bedroom and shut the door behind himself. Mark heard the bedsprings squeak a moment later as he collapsed into it. He turned back to Nicky, who looked very sorry for himself.

“Nix...”

“You didn't think to look there either! They could have just as easily been in yours!” He exclaimed, handing Mark his. Mark slid it on, feeling himself calm immediately, the ring back exactly where it was supposed to be. “Anyway, you kissed Kian in public! Did you check your trouser pockets? No. So I don't see why this is...”  
  
“Come here, idiot.” Mark interrupted, holding his arms out. Nicky went willingly, pressing his red face into Mark's chest. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Nicky mumbled. “I sort of wish I could remember last night. It sounds like a cracker of an event.”

“I'm glad I don't.” Mark admitted, kissing his hair. They'd checked the photo in the car again, the one of Nicky riding on his back, and the ring had been there after all, shoved on the little finger of his other hand. “But I'm glad you were here with me today.” Hands clenched on his back, pulling him in tight.

“We should never drink again.”

“We're getting married in two weeks.” Mark reminded him. “You bought one of those giant champagne bottles, remember? The one that comes up to your chest?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Nicky nodded, kissing his shoulder. “Well, after that?”

“Honeymoon. America.” Mark tilted his face up, pressing his mouth lightly to Nicky's, for the first time all day not feeling like he was about to throw up. “We're going to drink so many cocktails it'll be ridiculous. Terrible weak American beer. We'll come back so fat and drunk...” He rubbed their noses together. “We'll have lots of fat, drunk sex. It'll be amazing.”

“Sounds amazing.” Arms looped around his waist. “When we get back, then?”

“When we get back I'll be busy spending the rest of my life with you.” Mark promised. Nicky raised an eyebrow.

“And you'll need to drink for that?”

“No.” Mark grinned, letting his hands drift down towards Nicky's bum, feeling the ring catch on his fiance's t-shirt. “Just saying.” He squeezed gently. “Rest of our lives. Ring or no ring. Drunk or sober. Just... all of it. Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Nicky agreed, pulling him close. “All of it.”

He buried his face in Nicky's hair, feeling himself relax for the first time all day. Feeling Nicky pressed against him, the ring tight and pure on his hand, smelling soft, warm skin and listening to Kian snore in the other room.

“So fucking happy.” He murmured, feeling arms squeeze him tight.


End file.
